


The Hour of Our Discontent

by unrealityfreak



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gen, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrealityfreak/pseuds/unrealityfreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Discontent:<br/>1.  Lack of contentment; dissatisfaction with one's circumstances.<br/>2. A person who is dissatisfied, typically with the prevailing social or political situation.</p><p>Dave and John train together on LOHAC, and the heat on the breeze brings out the worst in them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hour of Our Discontent

**Author's Note:**

> My good friend [Yamamoto Kou](http://onewayworld.tumblr.com/) deserves at least half the credit for this little one-shot, for inspiring me with her ideas, helping with the details, and endlessly brainstorming titles with me until she found the perfect one.

Dave sprite's planet is sweltering, even without a shirt on. He'd promised not to use his fancy sprite-power lasers here since it's a no-weapons day, but John wouldn't be surprised if he did anyway. He's kind of an asshole like that.

Not that he needs the lasers to kick John's pyjama-wearing ass. John isn't holding back—duck, whirl, right hook—but Dave sprite is still too fast to catch. The harsh glow from the lava makes his shades flash as he comes back into range, but John's gotten faster in the year and a half they've been doing this, and he's learned a thing or two about the sprite's weaknesses. He ducks again to avoid the punch aimed at his ear, catches the extended wrist and levers him in, head-butt to the sternum at double force, catches the other arm near the elbow and twists it back. Dave sprite very nearly manages to wiggle away, until John body-slams him into the slowly turning gear they're on, feathers coming loose from his ruff at the impact to stick to John's chest, some escaping to float upward on the same heat that's turning John's face red.

Dave sprite laughs, strains to look up at John from over his shoulder. "Yeah okay you got me, don't look so smug."

"You didn't throw that one, did you? Because not only is that a dick move, it's totally counterproductive. I don't need freebies, I need to get better." He's still got a firm hold on the sprite's arm, keeping him flat on the ground, pinned under John's weight. Dave sprite makes a token effort to get free, nudging at John with his trapped arm rather than actually trying to shove him off, and John presses down harder into his back. He may not have as much knowledge or experience with combat, but he's bigger. Dave sprite isn't going anywhere unless he cheats.

"You are getting better," he says, face pressed against the metal. "Barely."

John's eyes narrow. "What was that?"

"I said you're still pretty useless, and I'm tired of trying to drill this shit into your head when you obviously aren't grasping the concepts."

John lifts his own weight briefly, and in one motion flips the orange birdy version of his best friend over, plants one arm across his chest from shoulder to shoulder and slams his weight back down. "Fuck you," he hisses, glaring through the fake orange shades. "Fuck your stupid fucking face and fuck your attitude, who the hell do you think you are?!"

Dave sprite chooses this moment to cheat. He phases through John, comes out literally on top of him and gets him in a hold. "I think I'm a smooth motherfucker with way too much swag for my own good." Ignoring John's indignant yell, he shifts his grip and pulls tight where he's got one wrist bent back to the shoulder blade, a much more unnatural position than the one he'd just been in. "And I think I'm better than you'll ever be, Egbuddy."

It's the condescending name that makes him snap. Heedless of his painfully stretched arm, John bucks up as hard as he can, twists under the space he creates between their bodies and gets a hand around Dave sprite's throat, feeling the slide of sweat and loose feathers for half a second before he tightens his grip enough to eliminate any more movement. Hands scrabble at his forearm as he swings a leg over Dave sprite's ribcage and uses his free fist to forcefully remove the imposter shades, sending them skittering across the gear.

"You're not better than anybody, you entitled piece of trash." Another sock to the face and this time Dave sprite isn't phasing away. "The only reason I asked you to help me—" his next connection draws bright orange blood, "—is because you've faced off with Jack before—" Dave sprite's eyes clench tight closed, "—and even if he was weaker back then—" he sputters a little, twitching his long tail though his hands remain at his sides, "—I thought you'd put your self-absorption on hold for long enough to get something fucking useful done!"

John realises he's been practically roaring as soon as he stops, silence ringing in his ears though he can hear his heavy breathing, the incessant ticking and grinding and sizzling of the world around them. He releases the sprite's neck, ignoring the breath he sucks in once his windpipe is unobstructed.

"Because screaming in my face while you break it is more useful than training to fight the real enemy." His voice is a little off, and he finally moves one hand in order to poke at his nose. "No kidding, you actually did break my face."

"Like it matters. If you can re-grow a wing you can deal with a well-deserved broken nose for a while."

"How deserving am I, John?" Orange eyes follow the other boy's progress as he gets up, not bothering to check his foot before it nicks Dave sprite's side. "Tell me exactly what I have done to offend you so deeply that you turn a little instructive strifing into a goddamn beatdown _every single time._ "

"Absolutely fucking nothing," John spits, going for his shirt where it's hanging half-off the edge of the massive gear. The shades have landed close by; he sends a little tendril of breeze to scoot them over the edge and into the lava. Dave sprite finally picks himself up off the ground, wiping some of the inhuman blood from his face.

"Well then I'm sorry for all that nothing," he growls. They glare at each other for a long moment, standing on a slowly turning platform in a sea of liquid heat and stifling air. Then Dave sprite turns and flies off without another word, leaving John shaking with anger and adrenaline, blinking the sweat out of his eyes, clutching his shirt in his bloody fist and feeling very, very alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternately titled "Sprite Club."


End file.
